


Bro-Down

by o0katiekins0o



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brotp, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0katiekins0o/pseuds/o0katiekins0o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine procedure, heavy anesthesia and a night away from his wife and baby. Molly did say to do whatever John wants. </p>
<p>Maybe that wasn't the best advice.</p>
<p>Hangover inspired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This... I don't know how this happened. Honestly I'm just working on moving any fics I started on my Notes app over to AO3 I remembered this funny idea I had and decided to run with it. Will be multi-chapter.

"What possible support could I offer? And don't say 'moral' we both know my moral compass doesn't exactly point true north." Sherlock practically pouted while he stretched out across Molly's sofa to nestle into her lap. His long legs splayed out over the arm rest and seat back.

Toby took the opportunity to join them, jumping up to curl up behind Sherlock's knee. Molly tried to stifle her laugh but could not keep herself from dimpling with amusement at the world's only consulting detective/genius/grown adult carrying on like a child being told to clean his room. 

"It's a serious procedure." Molly insisted.

"It's a routine procedure." Sherlock corrected "The merits of which are questionable. Done more often for profit than realistic concern for the patient's wellbeing."

Molly shook her head. She was not going to allow him to steer this conversation into a lecture on healthcare. "All you have to do is pick him up from the clinic and bring him back to Baker street to recover for a day or two." She reasoned.

"It's not the 'how' that confounds me, Molly. It's the 'why'. More specifically, 'why me'? Isn't this what Mary is for? 'In sickness and in health' and all that." Sherlock rolled his eyes as he quoted the marriage vow.

"He's not sick, Sherlock. It's just a colonoscopy."

"Be that as it may, why must I be the one to play nurse maid to him?" He practically whined.

Molly couldn't help but laugh at him now. His head in her lap and the crook of his arm flung over his face dramatically. 

"He'll be drugged to the gills and have had a camera shoved up his arse. I'm sure even you can understand why he'd rather not recover from that in front of his wife and infant daughter."

Sherlock winced and for a mad moment Molly thought she could feel him clenching.  "Thanks very much for the visual, Molly." He hissed through gritted teeth pulling a sour face.

"Oh my, could it be that Sherlock Holmes is feeling sympathy?" Molly teased.

"Certainly not!" His face was pinched in a withering expression. 

"It's perfectly understandable if you are." Molly teased, "You're 38, Sherlock. It won't be long before you'll be paying regular visits to Dr. JellyFingers." She punctuated her statement with a little goose on his bottom.

He squirmed and rolled off her lap and the sofa altogether, jumping to his feet and smoothing down his shirt and wild hair as she laughed unabashedly at his reaction.

Toby jolted up, displeased with his comfortable nap being interrupted by the detective's strop but seized the opportunity of Molly's, now free, lap. 

"I think I would prefer colon cancer, actually." He said decidedly and made a beeline to the kitchen.

Toby's new situation didn't last long as Molly pushed him off to follow Sherlock. He had no practical reason to go into the kitchen, he was merely trying to escape the direction of the conversation and started clattering about noisily to distract himself. 

He felt small, warm arms circle him from behind. Molly rose up on the balls of her feet to press a kiss to his neck then press the side of her face between his shoulder blades.

"Don't say that. I was only teasing." She murmured into his shirt.

Sherlock sighed. "What am I supposed to do with him all day? It's not like I can exactly take him along on a case when he's in that state."

"Certainly not." Molly agreed, "Just make sure he's comfortable and keep him entertained. Do whatever he wants to do."  Molly couldn't see but she could tell he was pulling a face at her words.

Detective work aside, he and John didn't exactly have the same ideas where entertainment was concerned. Sherlock didn't go in for pub quizzes and cheesy action movies. No. Sherlock would much rather microwave human eyes or test the inductive properties of cartilage with a soldering iron.

But John was his best friend. And, realistically, the one man he could thank for any other people he might call friend, and by extension, his current relationship with Molly.

John was the catalyst and supporter for every new, scary but imminently valuable connection in his life. He could do this one thing for John.  Odds were favorable that he'd just want a cuppa and a nap on his old chair anyway. Companionable silence was something he and John did well.

It would be nice, Sherlock thought, it would be like the old days.  Warming to the idea, Sherlock took Molly's hands in his and pulled her between himself and the counter. Pulling her to his chest he planted a playful smacking kiss to her cheek as he made the decision. No words were necessary, Molly followed his train of thought. She knew he would come around to the idea.

"And I promise, I'll never drag you along to any of my pap smears." Sherlock's gave her an adorably confused look. "Why not?!"

 

* * *

 

 

_I've been bad Molly, I need you to spank me! -SH_

_What?- MH_

_Wear a slave Leia costume. -SH_

That was odd. Molly was almost 100% sure Sherlock had not seen Star Wars. She looked at the clock and cracked a smile.

_Is this John? -MH_

_Damn! How'd you guess? -SH_

_Sherlock doesn't make those types of requests in writing. How was your procedure? -MH_

_Awful! Molly, I saw things I can't un-see! So much pink! Miles and miles of swirly pink and guts and I'm on drugs and I can't feel my face! -SH_

_Yeah that happens. I hope you feel better soon. Give Sherlock back his mobile before you start texting Lestrade. -MH_

Molly laughed slipping her phone in her pocket. Maybe this wasn't the best idea.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little update to let you know I haven't abandoned this fic! Thanks to everyone leaving kudos and comments. You light up my life, little darlings!

"You know I love my wife and daughter. You know that, right?... You know!" A very heavily medicated John Watson grumbled insistently. Sherlock hadn't the faintest idea what his best friend was on about but he nodded in assent anyway.

"But I am a MAN, Sherlock!" Sherlock blinked in confusion at his friend's seemingly random statements of the obvious clearly anesthesia made him chatty.

"You know, I grew up with only my sister and my mum. My dad was rarely about and it was just me, alone! Cast adrift, in a- in a... SEA of estrogen! Then of course Harry HAD to be gay! No chance of her bringing a boyfriend round. No chance of a brother-in-law... You know... sometimes I think that's the real reason I joined the army. So for once in my life I could scratch my arse in peace! Be a proper smelly bloke, like a free man!" 

Sherlock stifled a scoff at this, the man who made his bed so tight each morning he could bounce coins off of the linens. A man who had the same haircut for all the years Sherlock had known him and took the exact same number of minutes to shower and shave at the exact same time every day.

7:15 AM for 14 and one half minutes.

The same man who did little else besides complain about the infrequency of Sherlock's tidiness and general apathy toward orderliness. 

"Right John. Proper smelly bloke. If you say so." No sense in arguing with him now.

Sherlock was meant to wheel him out of the surgery center as he was still quite wobbly from the anesthesia he was coming out of. Once he was outside the building, and no longer their liability, he was meant to be ushered into a cab and taken somewhere to recover.

"So, of course I get married and have a daughter I'm outnumbered! It's like childhood all over again!" He groaned. "I'm doomed to a life of frills and taffeta!" 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Perhaps now was not the best time to remind John that his wife is a former wet-work agent, and their subsequent offspring is the product of two battle-hardened crack shots. All signs indicated that "frills and taffeta" would not be an integral part of their future.

In fact, Sherlock was almost certain that, despite John's ramblings to the contrary, he held on to hope that he could offer his daughter a life with rather more of the frilly and pretty. And rather less of the running and bullet-dodging of he and Mary's own pasts.

Again, now was not the time to point that out.

Sherlock wheeled him to the entrance of the surgery and pressed the button for the automatic handicapped door. It swung open and Sherlock pushed John out into the roundabout where a taxi awaited them.

"Come along John." Sherlock groaned as he hauled listless John up to push him into the open cab before settling beside him. 

"Where to?" The cabbie asked. Sherlock was about to give his address before John decided to take that moment to startle awake.

"TITS!" he shouted. "Take us to see some tits!"

The cabbie raised a brow searching for confirmation in Sherlock's face. For once he was at a loss. "John I really don't think now is the best time for-"

"Listen to me, Sherlock. My stag night was a disaster, my wife recently had a baby and I've just had..." John shuddered "a procedure... I just want to see some tits that aren't being used to feed a child!" 

He thought back on Molly's words: _Just do whatever he wants to do._

So with a look of resignation he nodded. "Fine. Take us where we can see some... " Sherlock sighed. "Tits... Please." 

The cabbie peered at them both through the rear view mirror with clenched concern. "I can take you to a nudie bar but it's the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday, you ain't gonna be seeing no A-squad right now, lads."  

"Whatever, just go!" John barked, head lolling back against the head rest. 

Sherlock wore a pained expression. "Just wherever is closest." Sherlock instructed the cabbie.

"And no cover charge!" John added. 

"John it's irrelevant."

"Closest with no cover? That'd be The Glitter Factory." The cabbie informed with a look that spoke of things seen that cannot be unseen.

 "Great let's go!" John muttered impatiently to the back of the Cabbie's head.

"Alright." The cabbie agreed. "It's your money, mate."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points if you recognize the name of the strip club! Hint: it's a parks and rec reference.


	3. Vodka cranberry veritae

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation at the strip club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For OhAine who refuses to let me rest on my laurels and insists I give some love to my WIPs.

Black lighting was a poor decor choice. Sherlock thought, mildly horrified as he looked around the seedy den of iniquity John had insisted upon.

The air smelled like stale cigarettes and the carpet felt slightly damp beneath his shoes. He wanted to text Molly where they were just to rub in her face how off the mark she had been about the "do whatever John wants" notion.

But John had explicitly told Sherlock not to inform anyone with a vagina what they were getting up to unless he had a death wish.

Sherlock sighed and made his way to the ATM. Hopefully a few fivers down a stripper's knickers would appease John's tit lust well enough to get him back to Baker Street. Sherlock returned to where they were seated, a booth near the main stage, stopping short as he caught John downing a vodka and cranberry. 

"You've just had anesthesia. Should you be drinking?" Sherlock attempted to reason when John snatched the small wad of bills Sherlock had extracted from the ATM.

John made a production of his eyeroll, shoving a glass into Sherlock's hands. "Down the hatch! There you are."

Sherlock grimaced But drank it anyway. To his surprise, it was less foul than he anticipated. This place may be hideous and loud but they can at least make a decent drink. 

His pleasant surprise must have registered on his face because John smiled. "Good? Good! Another round!" John rose to return to the bar for two more. 

While John was gone a creature that seemed to be completely comprised of glittery oil and silicon slithered onto Sherlock's lap.

"Care for a dance?" Her voice was raspy and she whipped Sherlock in the face with her overly-hairsprayed quaff. Sherlock half hoped this woman was not in the habit of smoking. He couldn't imagine her being able to manage it without her head going up in flames.

"Madame, I will give you 20 quid if you would instruct your co-workers to pretend I'm not here." He offered whilst nudging the woman off his lap. The woman stood and held out her hand palm up in anticipation of receiving the promised 20 pounds. Sherlock pushed a note in her hand, not caring to look where she tucked it away.

"It's been a pleasure, daddy." The stripper said, strolling past.

John returned in time to see the stripper clomp off in her ridiculously high heels. John whistled and raised a brow toward Sherlock.

"Not in the mood for a dance?" John asked with a smug grin. "Getting enough from Molly then?" He chuckled before taking another drink from his glass.

Sherlock sighed. "John please."

"Still too sober? I can help with that." He said, nudging the glass toward Sherlock who made a show of drinking it to please John.  "This is the kind of thing mates talk about, Sherlock. I mean you have right? With Molly I mean?" 

Sherlock took a breath and a fortifying drink, feeling the warmth spreading from his jaw to his chest. He felt...  Well surprisingly pleasant. His eyes felt a little droopier but he wasn't tired. He found it did wonders for making the lights and music less migraine-inducing.

Another drink and he could feel his lips loosening, looking over at his friend who was smiling so widely his eyes were nearly hidden by his cheeks. 

John. His best friend. The man he would've picked to be his brother, had he been consulted on the matter. He took another drink and he could feel the warm tingle inside his ribs. 

Sherlock exhaled and sunk into the cushion of the booth with a Cheshire grin. "Mate!" Sherlock said enthusiastically raising his glass to clink with John's. "You wanna know the truth?"

"Yes! Finally! I've been dying to ask for ages!" John said. 

Sherlock looked John in the eyes with a lopsided grin and rose his brows. "What do you think?" 

John rested his chin on the heel of his hand and blinked, his eyes out of sync from one another. "I try not to."

Sherlock snickered. "Yet when I point out that fact I'm being a bastard."

"Shut up!" John gave him a half-hearted slug in his shoulder. "I've made a concerted effort not to speculate on your... proclivities since that first night at Angelo's." 

"I noticed." Sherlock scoffed slightly, but grew quiet again, taking another sip from his drink. "Thanks for that. By the way."

John waved his hand lackadaisically. "You haven't always made it easy. But it's none of my business. So obviously, don't feel obligated to share just because I'm curious."

"Curious about what?" Sherlock was at the bottom of his drink. He registered that information with some disappointment.

"You and your... preferences, I suppose." John clarified. 

"My preference is Molly. I'm Mollysexual." Sherlock quipped, a little slower than usual and giggled at his own joke. 

John smiled leaning back into the booth and crossing his arms. "So she's your first, then?"

Sherlock suddenly became fascinated with the faux wood laminate of their little table. "For all intents and purposes she is. But in another sense she is... Not."

"For all intents and purposes?" John inquired with some disbelief.

"I'm an addict, John. Abstinence is not really in our wheelhouse." He explained, setting his glass down on the table. "Would you believe that before Molly, I'd never engaged in intercourse while sober? I'd always been under the influence of something or another." It was a simplistic answer but it was the best he could come up with.

He could see John struggling with a dozen other questions ready to tumble out. Disgusting strip clubs and shocking personal confessions, Sherlock really hoped Molly and John appreciated the effort he was making. 

"Is she wild? The sweet ones always are." John blurted out, flushed from the drink and probably the lingering effects of the anesthesia.

To Sherlock's own surprise he found himself formulating an answer. "She is... Challenging... At times." Sherlock's face heated from the flood of thoughts that one word conjured.

John snickered. "Challenging? I suppose that's one word for it."

"She is... Very adept." Sherlock added without actually clarifying.

"'Challenging'? 'Adept'? These are the descriptors you use when discussing sex with Molly?" John chuckled.

"I'm not exactly in the habit of discussing it am I? We engage in it regularly. I find it extremely enjoyable. And from what I've observed, she does as well." He said, slightly defensively and wishing somewhat for another drink, even though he could barely feel his face after only two.

 "So on the list of things that get Sherlock's engine revving at the top is 'Molly' in big bold letters underlined 5 times and beneath that is...?"

Despite the throbbing beat of the club music and the random hoots of enthusiasm from the other patrons you could have heard a pin drop while Sherlock considered his answer. "Do parts of Molly count or do they all go under the 'Molly' column?"

"Jesus Sherlock so this kind of thing..." John gestured to the stage were several dancers writhing to the music. "Does nothing for you?"

Sherlock cocked his head and watched the routine for a moment. "It's not... Unpleasant. Perhaps if Molly were to-"

"Stop. I've heard enough. You two are so adorable it's disgusting, I get it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to stick these in strange places!", John said stumbling to his feet, waving the wad of bills.

Sherlock winced, not caring to think on where those places might be.


End file.
